In your nine ranks of seniority, you serve, you say,

the people you don't know. Your vast
superiority is nothing but
the tongue of separation, ages
of privilege, sequestered scholarship stolen
from broken backs, dark minds, lost babies.

Your young spring from high nests, land light,
soon clothed in bright colours, swim easy, unaware
how clownly they perform. Their value less than
the pips squeaking
in a small
squishy
fruit.